


Look of love

by Inamioly



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-11 12:48:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3327491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inamioly/pseuds/Inamioly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The young prince has awaken, it seems." The Queen's soft giggle had both men eyeing her stomach somewhat suspiciously. Their experience around pregnant women was, after all… very close to none, actually. Athos POV on Aramis and the Queen's stolen moments. Previously posted on fanfiction.net.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Look of love**

Anyone else might have considered it a rather boring task. Downright tedious. Impossibly mind-numbing, and quite the thrill-killer – a welcome change, if you ask me, should you be one of the King’s fearless Musketeers, with their lives constantly hanging on a very unpredictable balance.

So, yes, three of the bravest foursome Treville had ever had the pleasure of working with were dangerously close to picking a fight with an annoying pair of bees that relentlessly followed them around the garden. They were bored; and no, for them, it was no welcome change, nor was it a blissful time. Where on earth was the blood? The clinks of swords banging against each other in a fit of delicious rage? As Athos rolled his eyes at Porthos, who in turn snickered in D’Artagnan’s direction, the threesome focused on dragging their sluggish feet across the yard and pretending they didn’t hear, or see, the enamoured looks the Queens’ ladies-in-waiting kept throwing their way.

Ah, yes, the Queen’s ladies… any story that features such a fine assortment of ladies should, undoubtedly, be starred by the ever so lovely Queen Anne. The very pregnant, very beautiful Queen Anne. It did not go unnoticed – and not by a long shot – how Her Majesty insisted on walking precisely four feet to the left from the redheaded girl that carried her books; Athos wondered why such an arrangement had been made. Being so far away from the group, it was quite obvious she would not be included in any of the girly tales or other girly shenanigans Athos supposed went on in these increasingly more frequent afternoon walks.

Perhaps… solving a mystery would surpass sleepwalking where excitement was concerned? He rather hoped so, since the gentle breeze, combined with the rhythmic way all six feet stepped on the uneven pavement, was sure to be rendering him unconscious in less than two minute’s time. Wait… no… their feet weren’t all synchronized. As the pair of feet that clashed from the threesome’s coordinated footsteps became growingly more apparent, so did a headache Athos didn’t even know he had. No… Oh, no, no, no.

Bloody hell.

And now he was annoyed. Not only had he solved the mystery of the wandering Queen before he could even begin to spell his name – which he was quite good at, he might add - , but now he _wanted_ to be bored… and he couldn’t. Because, well, you see, when one of your brothers is making reckless acquaintances with the noose, one tends not to be the life of the party. Stupid, _stupid Aramis_.

Which brings us, of course, to the dashing, and yet currently sombre looking, Aramis. Of course! How had he not seen it before? Athos grumbled under his breath, and a drousy looking D’Artagnan glances curiously at him. Of course, it had to be Aramis’ doing that the Queen had been so adamant in her request to have France’s finest Musketeers guarding her at basically every time of the day. And to think her quivery tone, when voicing her concerns for her and her baby’s safety in front of the King, Treville, and the four of them, had him fooled… Against his own will, a newly found respect for France’s naïve looking Queen began to grow in Athos’ stunned mind.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” He muttered, eyeing the inconspicuous pair in front of him.

“You see, kid, that’s what happens when you bathe an already poorly brain with too much sunlight.” Porthos laughed, staring at Athos’ apparent frustration at – well, _nothing_ , really, since he was busy making a hole on Aramis’ unsuspecting back.

“What? What happens?” D’Artagnan’s confused frown had him laugh even harder.

“Well, an advice that came a second too late as far as you’re concerned, I see.”

“Shut it, children, I’m attempting to think, if you must know.” Athos snapped, and quickly raised a finger warningly in front of Porthos’ ever-teasing face. “And no, no comments on your perceived futility of such attempt.”

“Spoilsport.” Porthos huffed, but obeyed.

“Much obliged.” Oh, the sarcasm.

No. Now was not the time for sarcasm, Athos. Focus. Where were we, really? Oh, yes, Aramis. It was _always_ Aramis.

That damned boy would be his undoing.

There he was, now, his bloody hair looking annoyingly fantastic against the green landscape, his seemingly relaxed demeanour contrasting with the rigidness with which he moved his arms, and yes… walking four feet to the side from the same redhead that carried all the poem books, and roughly two feet behind the Queen herself. Had he no sense in that thick skull of his? Had madness all but corrupted every cell in his body not yet corrupted by the deadly amounts of alcohol he ingested every night?

Hmm… come to think of it, Athos could account for only a couple of nights tainted by Aramis’ unmeasured alcohol intake recently. Had he… had Aramis been cutting back on the wild nights for the Queen’s benefit? Athos shuddered at the thought. Surely he wouldn’t… no…

_He was going to get them all hanged!_

Who did he think he was, being all responsible in an attempt to make up for impregnating the Queen? Seriously, had he no remnants of any form of intelligence in that hardly used brain of his?

No, it absolutely had to stop now. Athos quickened his pace, steadily growing closer to his soon-to-be-dead comrade, but then…

The Queen stopped walking. Everyone halted as soon as she turned around and faced the confused looking Musketeers. “Gentlemen, I have a request.”

D’Artagnan and Porthos, who were a bit behind the rest of them, nodded instantly. “Anything, Your Majesty.” The youngest of them smiled.

“I wish to be alone.”

“I would highly advise against it, Your Majesty. The grounds are, for the most part, protected, but leaving you here completely defenceless would be-”

“If it worries you so, perhaps I could do with only a couple of you. But the ones who do not stay must accompany my companions to their chambers.” Her decisive tone almost made Athos smirk. That, and of course Aramis’ serene performance, his eyes on the ground, and his back slightly turned to his three brothers. Well played, Majesty.

“Still…” Porthos started, but was quickly cut off by the blonde.

“Sir Porthos, as your Queen, that is my request.” She said, with a strange, and yet not entirely unpleasant, mixture of authoritativeness and gentleness.

“Of course.” Porthos acquiesced with a bow. “D’Artagnan and I shall accompany your ladies-in-waiting. That is…” He eyed Athos and Aramis questioningly.

“Perfectly fine with me, Porthos.” Aramis’ nonchalant tone matched his apparently expressionless face.

“Yes, go, and inform Treville of the change in our plans.” Well, as far as Athos was concerned, Aramis now owed him a month’s sum of drinking money. And a head – since he was sure to be losing his as soon as the King’s spies took notice of their doings.

After the puzzling exchange, everything happened quite fast – or, perhaps, it was just Athos’ worriedness showing. The group was soon too far to be visible to the three pairs of eyes that had stayed behind, and the Musketeer found himself on the receiving end of two sheepish looks.

Aramis cleared his throat, and Athos was surprised to see his hands trembling a bit as he covered his mouth. “Does your Majesty want to rest?”

The Queen smiled at both men. “As a matter of fact, I do. Do you two gentlemen fancy sitting with me under that appletree?”

“That would hardly be appropriate.” The blue-eyed soldier gently declined.

“Do I need to use the I’m-the-Queen card on you, sir Athos?” She teased him, softly, though her whole body was turned in Aramis’ direction. “Because I will.”

“There is no need for such a drastic move, Your Majesty.” Athos couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Then it is settled.”

The three of them walked peacefully to a healthy looking appletree, which was cleverly hidden by a particularly tall bush – Athos made a quick note to remember to double check this part of the garden when making his rounds, while at the same time silently complimenting his Queen for being so sharp-eyed.

“Your Majesty can’t sit on the grass. Your dress will get stained.” Aramis shook his head, a hint of playfulness in his words, and then untied his cloak. “Please, I know it is not much but allow me to spread my cloak on the grass for you to sit.”

“Well, it _is_ a white dress.” The Queen smiled almost… cheekily? Could it be?

“And a very beautiful one.” Aramis bowed, having set the cloak as perfectly as he could, and offered his hand. “Allow me?”

With one hand on the side of her very round stomach, and another holding Aramis’, she lowered herself with difficulty – so much so that the Musketeer had to place his other hand over her lower back and gently lay her onto the cloak. Athos noticed how the entire process took perhaps a few extra seconds than the deemed necessary… and it also didn’t go unnoticed how Aramis’ hand found its way onto her stomach and stroked it almost imperceptibly.

“You are very kind, Sir Aramis.”

Aaaand that’s it. He felt like an intruder, but how could he be an intruder to a situation that _surely_ wasn’t happening? They surely weren’t gazing into each other’s eyes – which surely weren’t as bright as they seemed from Athos viewpoint - , and they had to have breathed at least once… right? They _surely_ weren’t holding their breaths in anticipation of what was _surely_ not going to be a _kiss_ – not a _bloody kiss, I beg of you, Aramis!_

At least Aramis was still standing, and had not given up on his last thread of honour to go join the Queen on his cloak. But then…

“The young prince has awaken, it seems.” The Queen’s girly giggle had both men eyeing her stomach somewhat suspiciously. Their experience around pregnant women was, after all… very close to none, actually. She patted her belly tenderly, in a fashion not unlike Aramis’, and chuckled. “And he seems very eager to communicate.”

“How can you tell?” Aramis eyed her curiously, a fond smile breaking through his previous apprehension.

“Well, for one he is managing, only God knows how, to kick both my hand and my insides, at the same time. Ouch.” The Queen rubbed her stomach and grimaced slightly, an action that had both men gasp with what could be described as sheer consternation. She then chuckled. “Oh, relax, you two, he’s just being playful… which is good.” She added in a reassuring tone, and Athos could tell it was meant for Aramis – since his friend was eyeing her with a worried frown.

“It is? Good, I mean?” He stumbled over his words, and Athos felt a sudden rush of sympathy for his uneasy friend.

“Yes, Aramis. It means he is healthy.” Anne smiled.

“Good. Healthy is good.” Aramis sighed in relief.

“Indeed.” Anne paused, seemingly deep in thoughts, and then asked. “Would any of you like to meet my son?” Athos was sure she meant to smile, but her lips were trembling at the audacity of her offer. Her eyes kept wandering off to Aramis’, and the other Musketeer knew that when she had uttered the word ‘my’, she had meant ‘your’.

“Would it be… proper?” Aramis asked, shyly, but in his excitement forgot to wait for the answer. He knelt down in front of her as she chuckled.

“Of course. You two hold, amongst yourselves, more honour than the entire Red Guard.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure…” Aramis murmured with a sigh, and perhaps louder than he intended, for the Queen grabbed his hand instantly.

“Well, I am.” She stated in a final tone, and gently placed his hand over her protruding belly. “Although I can understand your hesitation. It hardly seems fair to compare two brave soldiers to a mere set of brainless men.”

Athos laughed, and Anne smiled at him, seemingly relieved that her joke had been well-received. As she turned her attention back to Aramis, she smiled brighter than Athos had ever seen her smile. “Do you like it?” She asked timidly, placing her hand over his.

“It’s…” The kneeling Musketeer lowered his head, enough so that Athos could only see the ending of a very, very, very happy smile. The tone of his voice, though, painted a picture so clear Athos had to look away. “It’s brilliant. Your Majesty, it’s absolutely… brilliant.”

“That’s my son.” With his back to them, Athos could only hear their hushed voices, and somehow he wished he couldn’t. The Queen’s emotional voice brought a smile to his face, which only intensified as she added, as quietly as she could. “That’s your son. That’s… Aramis, thank you.”

And that was when the standing Musketeer decided it to be wise to remain with his back turned to the Queen and his comrade. Keeping watch for any approaching intruder, and hearing – secretly glad for his brother – the hushed kisses and soft gasps whenever the little one made an appearance, he waited for the sun to start setting in the horizon to clear his throat.

The blissful grin with which Aramis and Queen Anne strolled towards the castle was more than sufficient to assure Athos he had done the right thing. For he had seen the way Aramis had removed a stray leaf from Anne’s golden hair and gently caressed her cheek; and the way he always guided her through the path with less roots in which she could trip; but mostly, he had seen the way they looked at each other.

For better or for worse, that was a look of love.

 


	2. A Royal Mess

Everything was a mess. Running a nervous hand through his sweaty hair, Athos tried to lower the speed at which his heart was beating, if only to be up to the challenge that had been presented to him. The Queen was having a panic attack.

“Your Majesty… your Majesty, please, calm down.”

It was of no use. His barely concealed concern – quickly escalating into full-blown despair – regarding the state of the Queen was only heightened by the certainty that he would not be able to help. No, Queen Anne didn’t need him there, any more than he wanted to be the one serving as her reassurance.

As a thunder boomed frighteningly close to the palace, the Queen shuddered visibly and her tears fattened. “P-Please, Athos. I n-need… I don’t-”

“Your majesty… your majesty, look at me. Please.” Athos tried to convey a soothing tone, but the discomfort was obvious. Her room proved too big to allow for his voice to carry, and he didn’t want to intrude on her personal space by getting any closer than he had to. She was sitting on the floor by her bed, almost curled up into a ball and leaning onto the wall, her sobs echoing throughout the big room. Athos wondered how she did that; how such a tiny person could produce such powerful cries, and make a grown man shiver with dread. “Your majesty, you’re okay. I promise, you’re okay.” He all but chanted, more to himself than to the distraught woman, and glanced worriedly at the door.

Aramis should have been here by now.

He was no good at this. Where was Aramis? He had sent Porthos for him more than two hours ago, and still there were no signs of either of them, and the Queen was showing little – if not none – improvement. He wondered if he should pray. Perhaps with his brother’s best interests at heart it would prove easier than he remembered…

“A-Athos…?”

“Yes, your Majesty?” He quickly replied, eager to appraise any sign of lucidity on her behalf.

“Is… is h-he not coming?” Her lower lip trembled, and Athos felt like punching himself – or better yet, Aramis and his incorrigible tardiness.

“I promise you, m’lady, Aramis will be here soon. You have my word.”

It might have been the seriousness imbedded in the words, or even the slight smile he allowed himself to show, but Anne visibly relaxed. Damn, how he hoped he could make himself believe just the same… everything was a mess. Everything was just a downright mess.

First, the King had chosen the present weekend to go flaunt his horrible hunting skills, showing a complete disregard for his Queen’s nearing birthing date. It shall be a present for the future King, Louis’d said, ignoring everyone’s not-at-all disguised sighs of disfavour. The King had taken much of the Red Guard with him, on account of a ‘bad-feeling’, hence Treville’s decision to place his best Musketeers on Queen duty. Then, as if that were not enough, the Queen fell ill the same night, with a fever so high it left her cheeks as rosy as the reddest apple. The surgeon had been by and given her a mixture to sip from time to time, assuring everyone at the palace that they’d be witnesses to a speedy recovery. The only thing he had adamantly ordered: her Majesty needs her sleep to keep her fever low and her heart beating steadily. Should her fever rise even higher, the baby stood a great risk at being infected too.

And how had Athos become involved in such a dramatic affair, you ask? Well, because he apparently, and according to a love-struck Aramis, had a heart of gold and couldn’t stand to be in the way of anyone’s happiness. In other words: he had volunteered to guard the Queen to keep his brother’s mind at ease – who was currently patrolling the gardens with D’Artagnan. Porthos was to relieve him of his duty and to tell him to report to Athos right away – Athos was sure he would get the message.

He sensed the Queen getting restless once more, and as he readied himself for another attempt at comforting the barely coherent woman – really, was the fever so high as to make her break into a panic attack? - , he heard three quiet knocks on the door.

“Come in.”

Aramis’ dishevelled – well, everything – stormed into the room, looking as worried as Athos had ever seen him. “Where…?”

Athos merely pointed in the direction of the bed, and Aramis’ eyes softened at the quiet sobs. “Her fever has yet to break. She needs her rest, Aramis.”

“Her ladies-in-waiting?”

“She ordered them away a few hours ago. Quite fiercely, I might add. She kept crying for… _mi amor_.”

The worried Musketeer gave a few tentative steps in the direction of the bed, attempting a glance at the barely conscious Anne. “And the baby?” He whispered.

The other Musketeer smiled sadly. “He should be okay for now, ‘Mis. But she _needs_ to get better soon. The surgeon was adamant.”

“She will. I’ll make sure of it.” Aramis glanced at Athos. “Mind the door, brother?” He asked, somewhat sheepishly.

Athos chuckled. “You should know better than to expect anything else by now.”

And as soon as it had started, the giant mess slowly began to sort itself out. Aramis walked slowly towards Anne’s round form, his heart clenching at the sound of her sobs. As soon as she took notice of his presence, her quivering lip gave place to full-scale crying. “Aramis…”

“ _Mi_ _amor_.” He lifted her in his arms and gently placed her on the bed. Brushing a wet strand of hair from her face, he kissed the tip of her nose, making her smile – as he knew it would. “There it is… I knew you would smile for me.”

Anne sniffed and offered him a teary grin. “I always smile for you.”

“True.” He sat on the bed by her side, one hand on her belly. “Now tell me, _cariño_ , do you not feel well?”

The blonde shook her head, burying her face into her pillow, a fresh batch of tears rolling down her cheeks. “Hmmm.”

“Will you allow me to help?” Aramis squeezed her hand, his thumb caressing her palm. “I can help some of that pain to go away, I can promise you that.”

How Athos envied the confidence that resonated from Aramis’ words. At Anne’s whispered consent, the man smiled; Aramis proceeded to take off his shoes and lay down beside her. In some other distant circumstance, Athos would have dragged him by the ear while shouting every reproachful words he could think of before Aramis’ head even touched the soft-looking pillow, but being that their current predicament was as unusual as its solution, the guarding Musketeer opted by merely looking away and tuning the couple out.

Which is why a change in narrator is in order.

TMTMTMTMTM

Aramis’ thoughts were all but racing, not unlike a bewildered man’s in the eye of a particularly nasty storm. As he rested beside Anne, contemplating which tactic would prove the most effective, he sighed. A fever so high as to cause this amount of disorientation in such a tiny woman was, at best, worrisome enough to make him fear for both her well-being and their unborn son’s.

Of course, since Anne was lying face to face with him, his eyes could betray none of those concerns. Instead, Aramis focused on tracing her trembling lips with his finger.

“ _Mi amor_ …” He murmured soothingly. “Talk to me, _Ana_.”

A small pout broke through her frail attempt at composure. “What is it you w-wish that I talk about?”

“Whatever it is that bothers you.”

“I am n-not bothe-bothered.” The blonde sobbed, a stubborn frown appearing on her delicate features.

Aramis chuckled. Trust his Queen to be asking for him in one second, and acting all nonchalant and indifferent in the other. “Then why are you crying? Why _were_ you crying?”

“Oh, you know, Aramis…” Was it shame that he saw colouring her cheeks an even deeper shade of crimson? “I was in pain.” She finished, somewhat lamely, averting his eyes.

“You _are_ in pain right now. I can see it in your frown, Anne.” He kissed her wrinkled forehead. “But your sobs have subsided. And your tears no longer run.” He paused, pulling her into his chest, careful not to hurt her stomach. “Talk to me. Allow me to help you when I can… because we both now chances like this one do not happen that often.”

The Queen heard him in absolute silence, save for the occasional sob. Aramis waited patiently, for one thing he did well was read his Queen’s needs. By the way she clung to his messy shirt, he figured his presence was helping; that, alone, was comforting to know, since it meant he was doing something right. He smiled when he felt her hand cover his own; they were both gently patting her stomach, and it seemed to calm her down. Her face still felt abnormally warm on his chest, but at least her breathing no longer felt so labored.

“It’s just…” Her sleepy murmur broke the silence, and she stopped. Aramis squeezed her hand encouragingly. “I was scared. I was so, so, so scared, Aramis.”

“Scared of what, my love?” He whispered into her hair.

“I woke up feeling this awful disease creeping upon me. My entire body was sore. I was alone…” Anne’s voice trembled. “I was all alone, and none of my companions seemed to ease that feeling of abandonment and helplessness.”

“But you are not alone. Not ever.” Aramis frowned. “I would never leave you alone. And you have this little one…” He smiled fondly. “Even if you tried, I’m fairly certain he is attached to you, your Majesty.”

A mixture of a giggle and a sniffle had them both chuckling. “I know, Aramis, I know all that.” She paused. Ah, there it was; he could see it in her eyes that she was about to disclose. “But the thing is… when I woke up… I couldn’t feel him either.”

“The baby?” Momentary apprehension had him eyeing her stomach.

“Yes. He wouldn’t move, not until lunch time, when I ate my soup and he kicked me. Quite hard, I might add.” She added in mock admonishment.

“The little devil. What did the soup contain? I’m guessing he approved of your food choices.” Aramis grinned.

“Baby carrots.” She eyed him teasingly. “Would it be proper to name our future king ‘Carrot’?”

“King Carrot, the First. It certainly has a nice ring to it.” He laughed, kissing her forehead.

“Thank you.”

And he knew it wasn’t just for the shared laughs. “ _Ana_ … if I promise to stay until Athos deems it no longer safe, will you try to get some sleep?”

“Hmm…” Her sleepy reply had him sigh in relief. “And Aramis?”

“Yes, _cariño_?”

“When I thought everything had gone wrong, once more… in those dreadful hours in which our baby’s fate remained unknown…”

Aramis swallowed heavily. “Anne…”

“I just wanted you. You, Aramis. You’re my comfort, always. And my choice.”

“And you mine, _mi amor_. Forever.”

TMTMTMTMTMTMTMTMTM

Athos waited until the last possible moment to wake them up. Both Aramis and the Queen were sound asleep for the most part of the night, and he managed to hold the servants off until way past midday, using his best charming smile to convince them the Queen was well taken care of.

They both deserved it. They would not have many moments as this one, and if he could aid them in some way, he would. His brother had earned it. And so had the Queen. Over the weeks during which their meetings had occurred, Athos saw – as clear as the rain – how they made each other happy. And how they depended on each other. If he would have chosen this path for Aramis? Why, certainly not… he was sure to get hurt at some point. But for now, they were happy prisoners of a blissful bubble that separated them from the royal affairs and the everyday tasks of the Musketeers.

And if it was enough for Aramis, it was enough for him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! Suggestions?

**Author's Note:**

> What did you guys think? I'll post the next one-shot sometime this week :)


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